


It Was All In His Head

by JackiLeigh



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Paranormal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 14:28:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14595012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackiLeigh/pseuds/JackiLeigh
Summary: This is a paraphrase of what I saw on a Facebook post.What if ‘Supernatural’ is actually all Dean’s storyline?What if Dean Winchester is in a mental institution imagining everything that’s happened so far?  What if, in reality, Dean failed to carry Sam out of the fire?   What if he ran to save himself and his guilt got the best of him?  So, he created an imaginary world where Sam’s always with him.





	It Was All In His Head

IT WAS ALL IN HIS HEAD

Anyone who knows who wrote this/issued this writing challenge, please let me know. I would love to give them credit for the inspiration. JL

 

Chapter 1

 

Each day around this time found him in his favorite spot at the institution. It was by the pond down the hill from the dorm he had called home for his entire life. He had been brought to the place as a child. When he had lost his entire family in a tragic house fire. His mom, dad and baby brother had all been burned to death. He had managed to run out but his dad had gone back to get his little brother and had never escaped. 

Dean had spent his life imagining what his life would have been like had his family lived, especially his little brother, Sam. John and Mary, his parents, had made sure that Dean had gotten well acquainted with his little brother. They had allowed Dean to hold Sam pretty often. And Dean had found himself going into Sam’s room and talking to him as he lay in his crib.

Now, even two decades later, his thoughts always returned to his family. What he presumed his family to be. And when he talked to his counselors and even his psychiatrist, they would tell him he had taken the fantasy too far. That he needed to stay in his reality. This reality. But, it was just so easy, sometimes to just slip back into what he imagined his life could be. He and his brother, fighting evil, killing monsters and driving around in muscle cars.

Dean’s ideal car was the only car he could really remember well. And that was his dad’s Impala. John had bought it new. And Dean could remember how the leather smelled. He could close his eyes and picture the dash board. He remembered his view of life from the backseat as they sped down the road. Dean watching the world fly by. He marveled at how the moon and the sun always seemed to follow them when they drove. And he knew, he just knew, that car was gonna be his when he grew up. 

Dean remembered helping John fix the Impala. Though help would probably be a stretch. The tools were too big and too heavy for his small uncoordinated hands to handle. But, he did his best to try and do what his dad told him to do. And he watched his dad, closely, trying to make sure he got all the steps down. Even now, if given the chance, Dean thought that he could change the oil or overhaul an engine. He knew the steps. It was all locked away in his head.

Dean dreamed a lot. Nearly every night. He didn’t tell the therapist all he dreamed about. It was weird, even for him. True, he told his shrink that he thought a lot about his family, in particular his brother. But he didn’t tell the doctor what he imagined the two of them doing. It was too weird, too strange, and too bloody. There were knives and guns and lots of unearthing remains in his dreams. He didn’t understand it all. His therapist would probably suggest he be put in Building C. And he didn’t want that. Nobody wanted to be in Building C. Especially those already there, from the sounds of things. Dean had never been in Building C. But he had heard a lot about it. And he had heard a lot from it. It was the locked psych ward. Those who were dangerous to themselves and others were housed there. He had heard screams issuing from the building, at all hours of the day and night. It gave him nightmares to even imagine what went on in there. Sometimes the nursing staff, when they got a little tired of his stubborn streak, they would threaten him with Building C. He never knew if they were serious or not, so it had its desired effect. He stopped doing whatever it was that was annoying them.

 

TBC

 

 

Chapter 2

 

AN: I have decided to introduce some of my favorite characters. I hope you like the way I did it. JL

 

Dean wondered what life was like outside those gates. He would see people come and go. Many of the of the residents got visitors, especially on the weekends. But, weekends were like all the other days to him. Nobody came to see him. Nobody asked him how his week was. Nobody brought him treats in to give him a break from institutional food. Nobody took him on day trips, either back to their family homes or to department stores or grocery stores. Nobody took the time out to come get him and take him on a day trip to some touristy location. And, truth be told, it didn’t bother him too much. He didn’t mind not leaving. Sometimes just the thought of entering the world that existed beyond the gates of the institution was scary.

Dean didn’t know how the real world worked. He knew how his world worked. He knew that at 7:30 a.m. on any given morning his breakfast would arrive to his room, hot and ready. He knew 9 a.m. was shower time, 10:30 a.m. was his counseling/therapy session time. Twelve noon was lunch, either in his room or he could take him lunch in one of the two large dining rooms on campus. At 2 p.m. there was usually some kind of scheduled afternoon activity. The activities varied daily and Dean was free to choose whether he wanted to participate or not. Then he usually headed back to his room to eat his dinner at 5:30 p.m.

Dean had decided to forgo the group activity today. Easter was coming and the residents were making up things to give to their families when they came to visit. He saw no point to that; no family would be coming to visit him. So, he did as he did on many cool sunny days like this. He took a stroll down to the stream that ran through the property. 

The stream was not deep, maybe a foot at its deepest point. But the water was clear and he loved to sit on the outcrop of rocks by the stream and stare into its depth. And he could swear, if he stared long and hard enough he could see his brother’s face staring back at him. It was his grown-up brother’s face, he didn’t know how he knew that, but he did. And Sam was staring back, smiling, as if to say he was okay. And that maybe, somewhere…somewhere in the great beyond Sammy had had the opportunity to grow up. He had had the opportunity to live a life. And who knew, maybe in Sam’s world he was missing his big brother, Dean.

“Dean Winchester.” Jo said as she walked towards the young man sitting on the outcrop. She climbed up on the rock and took a seat beside him. Jo was the pretty blond activities assistant who had been sent to check up on Dean.

“Tell Charlie not to worry her pretty red head about me, I’m fine.” Dean said as he stared into the water.

“We missed you at the activity today.” Jo replied, drawing her knees up to her cheat and wrapping her arms around them. “Charlie likes you, Dean, so do I.”.

“Charlie just wants to make sure she gets 100% participation in all her activities.” Dean said. Dean actually liked the Activities Director, one Charlie Bradbury. She was a pretty petite redhead who looked to be about 5 years younger than him. She was as fiery as her hair was red. And she had decided, when she first came to work at the institution, that Dean Winchester was going to be her pet project. She started talking to his nurses and his doctors, trying to find out all that they could tell her, which to be honest, wasn’t much. She got most of her information from the patient himself, whenever he decided to give up a precious little nugget.

“Why?” Dean looked over at Jo and asked.

The young woman looked at him for a moment. “Why what?”

“Why do you like me?”

Jo was not sure what Dean was getting at. “You’re a nice guy.”

Dean shook his head and grinned. “You don’t know me.” He had not talked to many others about his constant dreams. But, as it always does word/gossip gets around. Dean had mentioned things here and there to various other residents. He had talked to various staff, ones he felt he could trust. But still, in a place like this there was no such things as privacy. And the walls had ears, so it was only a matter of time. But no matter who he told, or how he told it. He just could not convey the true feelings his dreams gave him. He felt as if he had crossed some sort of magical border and had entered that world, whichever world it was.

Jo shook her head. She felt that that was not, at all, the case. She felt she knew him well.

“I’m a guy who’s been institutionalized since he was 4 years old.” He looked past her down the road to the big iron gates of the institution. “I haven’t left this place since the first day I came here. What you know is…is what this place has made me. Outside those gates….”

“Outside those gates, you would be somebody else.” Jo said, finishing his sentence for him. “I hope that that would be the case.”

“I just…I have a feeling….” Dean said shaking his head. “I think I would be a little…hard to deal with, something of a jerk.”

Jo nudged him on the shoulder. “You’re already something of a jerk.”

“Hey!” Dean laughed. He jumped down off the rock and headed back to his building. 

Jo scrambled down off the rock and ran to catch up with him. She locked her arm with his as they walked. “You would do fine away from here, Dean Winchester. And I hope, one day, you get the chance to find that out.”

 

TBC

 

 

 

Chapter 3

 

Dean had gotten to know almost the entire staff of the institution. He had been there the longest of most of the residents. And he had literally grown up knowing these people. They were his family in every sense of the word. He had no other frame of reference for what constituted a family. So, when one of his family, for whatever reason, got fired, died or left the institution, he felt the loss acutely and the pain lingered.

“Bobby…he would have told me.” Dean stopped speaking. He shook his head scolding himself. Bobby Singer had been his counselor for the first ten years he was there. Dean had just turned 14 when he found out one morning that Bobby had been killed in a car accident on the way to work. His car had ran off an ice-covered road and hit a tree. And after all these years. Bobby’s name would slip into a conversation and Dean would imagine what Bobby would tell him after he made certain statements.

Bobby was the only counselor who seemed to realize that Dean was still also a kid and not just a mental patient. Bobby would throw the baseball around with him. They would go down to the bowling alley on the premises and play a few games. They would also just sit and talk. Well, Dean would talk and Bobby would listen. That was what Dean liked, the other counselors he had would only see him in their offices as they wrote pages and pages of notes of yellow legal pads. Bobby’s office was wherever Dean wanted to go that day. And Dean honestly could never remember the man writing anything down. He was not sure how the man kept all that information in his head.

Jo watched Dean as they made the slow walk back to his building. She sighed. “I wish I had met Bobby, Dean. He sounds like a great counselor. Sounds like he was great with you.”

Dean nodded. “He was. I miss Dr. Talbot, too.” He stated. “Why did Bela have to go off to that university hospital. So, they offered more money, so what….” His voice trailed off and he got quiet again.

Jo waited. She knew he wasn’t finshed. 

“Then Meg…she had to go off and get married. Married people work too, you know.” Dean proclaimed. “It’s not unheard of.”

Jo smiled and shook her head. “You don’t know this, Hun. But the rumor is, the only reason Meg Masters became a nursing assistant and started working here was to catch the eye of a doctor.”

Dean looked at her, disbelieving. 

Jo nodded. “All I heard about was ‘well, Dr. So-and-So makes this much a year. Dr. So-and-So drives this kind of car.’”

“But, she was really, really good, Jo. She took really good care of me.’

Jo stopped in the doorway of his building. “I don’t know what to tell you. And I know she was great at her job. All the residents miss her, as I’m sure you know. But….” Jo shrugged her shoulders.

Dean nodded and sighed. “I’ll see ya.” He looked at his watch. “I have an evening session with Missouri. She hates it when I’m late.””

“She gives you a hard time, tell her she’ll have to answer to me.” Jo said before turning and walking away.

Dean smiled and then hurried inside to the counselor in the first-floor conference room. He hurried into the room with just a moment to spare.

Missouri nailed him without turning to see what he was going to do. And the fact that he tried to do it every session didn’t seem to faze her. “Do not put those feet up on the conference table, Dean Winchester.” Missouri Mosley, Dean’s counselor of the past 5 years told him. She waited for a moment before she spoke again. “No, you cannot have a black leather couch.”

Dean took a moment to scowl and glare at her behind her back before he put his feet back on the floor and sat upright in his seat.

“You can’t be a proper shrink without a couch.” Dean declared. “I watch TV, even the cartoon shrinks have a cartoon couch.”

“I am not a shrink, Dean. I am a counselor.” Missouri told him. Dean already knew this. It had all been explained to him 5 years ago. “Do you need to see Dr. Shurley?”

“All Chuckles does is come see me for 5 minutes. That’s it.” Dean explained. “He spends more time with my chart then he does me. Wouldn’t I be a better source of information about the patient…considering I’m the patient?”

Missouri shook her head. She understood his frustration. She got that question from nearly every patient she had. The doctors only came around to evaluate their patients, the stable ones, every 2 to 3 weeks, more often, of course, if the need arose. But, the need had never arisen with Dean. 

“We are not going to spend our time talking about Dr. Chuck Shurley.” Missouri told him, taking over the session again. “And we are not going to spend your whole session discussing the pros and cons of having a therapy couch.”

It didn’t seem that way. But Dean really liked Missouri. He genuinely liked her. She genuinely liked him. And in the 5 years of sessions, she felt she knew him very well.

“You’re not sleeping.“ Missouri stated.

Dean just looked at her for a second. The statement had shocked him. It was true. But still, he thought he had hidden it pretty well.

Dean didn’t have to speak, she continued. “More about Samuel.” 

Dean nodded. “And about the people here… He paused. 

The counselor didn’t know if he was struggling with the memories, or if he was struggling the find the right words, or both. So she gave him a few minutes.

“…even you…In my dreams. You guys are…you were friends with my dad and you and he go way back and he came to you because you have psychic abilities. Your name was the first name in Dad’s journal and….”

“Journal?” Missouri leaned in. “What journal?” She asked him as she flashed back to their other conversations and she couldn’t remember the mention of a journal.

“I’ve been remembering…seeing it, for a long time. But…but, it doesn’t make sense. Names…numbers. Not phone numbers just seemingly random numbers. They obviously meant something to him but. But I just…I didn’t want to tell you when I had no idea why it kept coming to me. And it still comes to me and I….” He shook his head.

“You keep saying it in present tense...then you change it to past tense. Why is that?”

“The dreams, they’re real. They’re vivid. And they feel like it’s happening right now, this moment. I don’t know for sure, but I think I’m grown up. Sam’s grown up. He’s….”

Missouri interrupted him. “How do you know it’s Sam?”

Dean shook his head. “I just do. I have no idea, no clue, what a grown-up Sammy would look like. But, there he was.” He said, picturing his ‘little’ brother in his mind. “…he’s a few inches taller with a mop of dark brown hair…he kinda looks like Shaggy on Scooby Doo. But, I know it’s him, Missouri. I don’t know how, I just know.”

“What did you mean when you said earlier, you’re dreaming about the people here?”

Dean nodded. “It was…I was in some alternate universe where all the things of nightmares and folklore and all that were true. Where demons and angels walked the earth. Where….”

“You have a vivid imagination.” Missouri offered.

Dean shook his head. “Trust me, no one wants an imagination as vivid as this was.”

 

TBC

End notes: Yes, you probably recognized a few names in there. It was on purpose, I am bringing in a few of my favorite characters and then a few others that I think might work. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. JL

 

 

Chapter 4

 

AN: I have never had a session with a counselor or a psychiatrist or psychologist, so I am just winging this here. My model is what I have seen on the various TV shows I’ve watched. So, at least, if I get it all completely wrong, you’ll know why. I have, however, lived in an institutional sitting. I was in a rehab facility for a total of six months. So, I am familiar with that sitting. I hope you enjoy, JL

You have a vivid imagination.” Missouri offered.

Dean shook his head. “Trust me, no one wants an imagination as vivid as this was.”

Dean shook his head again. He didn’t like the vividness of his dreams. They seemed a little too real, a little too intense for his liking. He had always dreamed. And he had had normal dreams, as for as Chuckles and Missouri told him, after they had talked to him, in depth about them. But these, these dreams were nothing like those. He was an active willing participant in these dreams. In what he deemed his ‘normal’ dreams, he was watching the action. He was on the sidelines observing the events as they happened.

Missouri could see how much Dean was disturbed by the change. “You had those dreams since you were a teenager, Dean. It’s simply the change you’ve gone through. You’ve matured. You’re a man now.”

“Men have more vivid dreams than teenagers?” Dean asked, his skepticism showing.

“It has to do with life experience.” The counselor explained.

Dean laughed.

“Why is that funny?” She asked.

“What life experience have I had, Missouri?” Dean asked. “An institutionalized existence is not life experience.”

“Do you think things are so different out there?” Missouri asked, referring to the world past the institution’s gate.

“Well, yeah!” Dean replied, surprised she would even ask the question.

“I have a small one-bedroom apartment. I share with my cat, Skittles. I get up get ready for work. Leave my apartment, and come here. I get off work. I go home.” She paused. “That’s not a great deal of difference from what you do. You get up, go to appointments, go to activities, have some free time. Then you go back to your room.”

“Ah, but the difference is…you chose to do everything you said. You chose your job, your apartment, your cat. You can choose to go and do whatever you want.” Dean paused. “I have not been able to choose since I came here. Everything is regimented for me. I get ‘this much’ food, I have ‘this much’ free time, I take ‘this much, therapy. I even live in the place I live because it is full of others who have the same issues I do.”

Missouri just waited she knew he was not finished.

“That’s life, Missouri. The ability to choose, not the things you do. It’s the fact you get to choose to do them.” Dean shook his head. “You don’t….”

“No, I guess I don’t understand that, Dean.” Missouri admitted. “But, I have seen you grow up here. I have watched you….”

“I couldn’t live outside these walls. There’s no way, Missouri. I don’t know how to do anything.”

“You’re never talked about this before.” 

“I’ve thought about it.” Dean admitted. “But, you need money. Something you can make a living at, something you are good at.” He paused. “I don’t have that.”

Missouri shook her head. “I don’t think Rufus would agree. He said you put that engine back together on his go-cart he rides around here. He said you had it running in no time.” She waited for Dean to respond, and when he didn’t she continued. “And then there’s Garth and Jody. You know the buildings so well. You have great observational skills. Garth said you’ve pointed out things out of place to him on a great many occasions. Jody loves that you know the place as well as she does. All she has to do is come to you and ask where things are. They both have said you could take over their security guard jobs anytime you wanted. They said you would be excellent.”

Dean shook his head. “All they do is walk around here looking in windows. What does…?”

“To be able to take things apart and put them back together by just memory of how the parts fit is a feat. To put them together again where they actually work is a talent, a skill.” Missouri stated. “To have such an acute level of observation that you can tell, in an instant, if something is missing from a place. That is an amazing skill to have. It is a very desirable quality, for most people, actually.”

“So…what…I could live out of an old clunker car that I had to continually fix up and do what? Be a traveling security guard?” Dean shook his head. “Sounds like a horrible way to live. Or maybe I would live out of those horrible themed-hotel rooms, with the matchy, matchy everything.” 

Missouri had been in enough of those on her family vacations as a kid. She cringed at the memory.

Dean noticed. “So, they do exist?”

Missouri nodded and shuddered, all that she had seen had been loud and hideous.

 

TBC

 

END NOTES: I had meant this last part to be kind of a joke on Sam’s and Dean’s motel room stays. They have had some horrendously-decorated places to stay in. And the matchy, matchy…that was just too much.

 

 

Chapter 5

FYI: I am having so much fun with this, ‘introducing’ SPN friends into Dean’s world. I hope you guys are enjoying it as much as I am. JL

 

Fergus MacLeod enjoyed his job, his position. He had been the administrator at the Greenville Psychological Institution for nearly 25 years. He was a small, slightly plump pleasant-looking man with a healthy Scottish accent, despite having lived in the United States since his late teens, and he sported a slowly receding hairline. He prided himself on knowing the names and histories of all the residents of the institution. And when it was possible, and the resident able, he spent a great deal of time in conversation with them.

Fergus had spoken with one particular resident, many times, Dean Winchester had been the one resident who had been there the longest. So, Fergus had spent the first years of his administration brushing up on his child psychology. He had not been trained to specialize in that area. But, he knew it would behoove him to review as much as he could so that he could have meaningful interactions with the young man. 

Fergus had learned all about Dean’s history, which in all honesty had not been much: In fact, it could be summed up in one sentence: Normal childhood until a fire destroyed his family and his life. Dean had come in with a number of issues. The social workers who took over Dean’s case had tried to place the little boy in a foster home. He woke his new family every night screaming and crying, talking about the fire and his little brother Sam. Dean had been had been practically inconsolable during those times, keeping his foster parents up well into the night. So, they placed him elsewhere…and the same thing happened. The little boy Winchester got placed 5 times before they essentially gave him up and turned him over to the government. He was then give an in-depth evaluation. He was given a primary diagnosis of PTSD and sent to Greenville.

“Dean…Mr Winchester.” Fergus called out to Dean from across the lawn of the administration building.

Dean’s head popped up at the sound of his name. He knew the voice automatically and he smiled at the sound of it.

“Fergy.”

Fergus hated the nickname. He really did. But, somehow, it was okay for Dean to call him that. But, Dean was absolutely the only one he would give that privilege.

“Nice day, don’t you think?”

Dean looked at Fergus, studying him for just a moment. “Is this a social talk or a psychological talk?”

Fergus shook his head. He was not sure what Dean meant. They walked together just a little further in silence.

“Is this a talk where two people have a normal conversation? Or is this a talk where you analyze everything I say and do to get an accurate picture of my mental health?” Dean stopped at one of the many benches places around the property and took a seat. Fergus sat down beside him.

“Why can’t it be both?” Fergus asked.

“Because I have yet, in my life, to have a normal conversation with you, or Missouri, or any of the other counselors?” He paused. “How would you feel? Every word you said…ever, analyzed, measured, weighted like it was an invaluable quantity. I don’t have conversations. I’m a lab rat providing samples.”

“Not everybody here treats you like that.” Fergus reminded him. 

“No…no they don’t. But, I can’t help but feel that everybody else has been instructed to report what they see.”

“That’s bad?”

“No, not bad, just annoying and intrusive.”

“We need to know how to care for you, Dean. We need to have accurate, current information to do that.” Fergus replied.

 

SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN

 

“This was the longest he’s lasted, Dr. MacLeod.” Missouri said as she and the doctor looked into the padded room that now held their favorite resident.

Fergus nodded. “Eighteen months, over a year….” He shook his head, sadly. “I was so sure…a year and a half without a break without a psychotic break.” He sighed. “Call Dr. Andrews for a sedation order. We don’t want him hurting himself in there.”

Missouri stood for several moments. Dean had been fighting the restraints that tied his arms and legs to the bed. She knew that the sedation was beneficial to him. But she still turned her head when it was given, though in Dean’s state, she doubted he felt it. She waited about 10 more minutes, just to make sure that medication had taken affect. 

Missouri had been in his room when Dean had had to be restrained and transported. She had had no idea the young man was so strong. He had broken one guard’s nose and he kicked another in the chest hard enough to crack a rib or two. After that Dean was tazed so he could be easily brought to the hospital lock-down part of the institution. 

Dean was trying to get to his brother Sam. That had been what all his other dreams/breaks had been about. Dean was trying to save Sam. Dean had disappointed his dad because he didn’t save his little brother. That had been the childhood dreams. Now Sam was grown. He was a grown man. Which made sense, Sam would age as Dean aged.

The doctors had recorded Dean when they could during his ‘breaks’. They recoreded him during the persiods when what he was saying made sense. Dean was having conversations with ‘Sam.’ From what could be understood from Dean’s ramblings, Dean and Sam road all over the country in a Chevy Impala ‘fighting monsters’ as crazy as that sounds. But, that’s what Dean kept saying. And he kept saying he was trying to save Sam. But, it seemed, Dean couldn’t his brother, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t do it.”

Missouri entered the observation room. She walked up to the bed and grabbed Dean’s hand. She looked at his wrist, taking in the abrasions from the restraints. She noticed the same type abrasions around his ankles. 

Missouri squeezed his hand as the tears fell. It always broke her heart to hear Dean scream ‘No, Sam! Please! No!’ as the tears rolled down his face. His breaks/ his extended nightmares always seemed to start like that. Dean screamed loud enough to wake everyone on his floor. But, he couldn’t wake himself. He could never completely break away from what was going on in his mind. And when he finally did come out of it, as little as days or as long as months later, he was physically exhausted and emotionally spent. 

Missouri stood staring, watching the machines monitoring Dean’s condition. “Sweetie, I wished that I knew what I could do to help.”

 

TBC

END NOTES: I know these conditions may not exist together, some may not exist at all. Slap an AU label on it, call it Literary license, whatever! Just enjoy, JL

 

 

Chapter 6

 

His throat was raw and his skin was burning. He was four years old again watching his father grab his brother Sam. And then the picture changed. Somehow, now Sam was on the floor. He was screaming as the fire engulfed him. Dean didn’t know what had happened. Had he dropped his little brother and not realized it? He was scared. Dean couldn’t go back in and, he had no idea where his father was. His dad was not in the yard. That he knew. He had looked everywhere. And now it was just confusion, the firemen had arrived and the next-door neighbor, Annie Parker, came running out of her house and across the yard when she saw Dean. She feared he would try to go back in. She held tight to the squirming, crying child as the firemen worked. The police soon arrived. They tried, very unsuccessfully, to interview Dean. But he was inconsolable and in no shape to talk about what happened.

Through the years the scene never changed. But he did. The nightmare came and each time he was his 4-year-old self. Then failing to save Sam. He got to go through the agony again. The next time he was his current age and he would fail his do-over, also. He would completely fail to save his brother, even in his complete awareness of what was to happen and despite his momentous efforts to stop it, the outcome was the same. And, as always, he could never get away from the scene. He could never leave his front yard. There were spectators, firemen, police; human and non-human barriers. No one payed him any mind. But, at the same time, he could not part the crowd to get away from the horror. He just wanted to escape. He wanted, very badly, to escape.

Suddenly, he saw an opening. He turned and started running, as fast as he could. He had to get there before it closed again. But then he stopped. He was stopped cold, momentarily blinded. The space was filling with a brilliant bright light, and he could no longer see anything in front of him, until an outline appeared. A man walked out of it creating a black silhouette. He stood and stared for a moment. He recognized the man.

“What is it this time? What do you want, Castiel?” Dean asked.

“You can’t leave, Dean Winchester. We are not done.” The angel replied.

What do you mean, I can’t leave…? We’ve not done…?” Dean asked looking around. “You’re in my head. This is a dream. I CAN’T leave me. And WHAT are we doing that’s not done?”

Castiel sighed. He had to go through this with Dean each time. It was tiring. Dean refused to believe he was not dreaming, and by the time Castiel had Dean convinced he would somehow slip back through the veil and the angel would have to wait. This time, it had been two years he had waited. And it was a long two years.

“Sam’s waiting for you. He’s in the motel of Route 6. You guys have been hunting a shapeshifter for the past 3 weeks.” Castiel explained as the scene changed and he and Dean were standing on a hardtop road leaning against a black Impala. 

Dean looked down at himself. His clothes had changed into a pair of holey-kneed jeans, a white t-shirt covered by a long sleeved black and white flannel. He sighed, and instinctively reached into his pocket for the keys. He just, somehow, knew that they would be there. He then walked around to the driver’s side, started the car and drove off.

“Dude, you’re gone for like hours, and you don’t bring back any food!” Sam said, to his brother obviously disappointed. He then reached across the bed and jerked the drawer open, still perturbed and grabbed the phone book. He threw it over onto Dean’s bed. “You’re ordering! You’re paying! AND you’re tipping! No going into the bathroom and pretending to take a shower to get out of it, either.”

“Sammy, I….” Dean started. Again, he was not sure how he knew this was Sam. But he knew it was. 

Sam shook his head. “I don’t care who it was, Dean? I don’t care how pretty she was, I don’t’ care. It was just damned….”

Sam’s tirade stopped when he heard the phone ring he snatched it up in his anger, not even paying attention to who was calling.

“What’s the idjit done this time?” Bobby asked. His youngest adopted son was a very easy-going guy, unless his brother, Bobby’s oldest adopted son, ticked him off.

“My brother is a narcissistic male whore!” Sam stated.

“Hey!” Dean said hearing the comment.

Bobby could not help but laugh at the description. “Not a pretty picture there, Son.”

“You’re telling me.” Sam glared at Dean as he talking. “He left about 5 hours ago to get food. He comes back acting like he has no clue what I’m talking about, acting like I have no reason to be mad at him.”

“Seriously? He was gone 5 hours? And he’s…are you sure he’s not hurt? Are you sure nothing happened to him?” Bobby had never known Dean to be gone that long unless he was hunting. “He didn’t go off hunting by himself. Maybe he found a lead or….”

Sam looked at Dean. “You didn’t go off by yourself again did you, Dean?” He paused. “You know it’s too….”

Dean shook his head and put up his hands. “No, I promise, nothing like….”

“Then what the…?” Sam asked. He chatted with Bobby for a moment before he turned the phone over to his brother.

“What’s going on with you, Boy? And don’t lie to me!” Bobby said as soon as Dean said hello.

Dean shook his head. “I don’t know. I just…lost track of time.”

Sam sat and listened to Dean’s end of the conversation. And he didn’t like what he was hearing.

“Are you hurt? Bleeding? Concussion? Anything?” Bobby asked. He didn’t like this. Dean was never this subdued, something was very wrong.

Dean didn’t respond, so Bobby told him to hand the phone back to Sam. Dean complied.

“Check him out, Sam.” Bobby said. “He’s…something’s wrong. This is not the Dean we both know. Then call me and tell me what’s going on. And if he gives you any trouble. Pack him in the car and bring him here. We’ll straighten him out.”

 

END NOTES: There may be some confusion here. So, just in case there is. The times Dean is conscious in his world. Are the times he’s missing from Sam’s world, the hunting world. I hope my little transition didn’t confuse you. I didn’t’ want to put this explanation at the beginning of the story because it would have spoiled the surprise of where I’m taking the story. I hope that I don’t make it too hard to follow.

 

 

Chapter 7

 

The nurses were concerned. Dean was still unconscious. But, his heart rate was elevated, and he seemed restless. 

Missouri had sat with him hoping he would only be out for a few hours. Not the nearly 24-hour day that this was turning into. She could not help but wonder what trials his mind was putting his body through.

“Damnit, Dean.” Bobby called out. They had lost him, again. “Where are you, Son!”

“Dean, come on Dude! Where are you?” Sam yelled.

Sam had managed to get him to Bobby’s, and while they were discussing what to do, Dean left the room. Actually, he had left the house, and from all appearances, the planet. They could not find him anywhere. 

This was new for him, not seeing Bobby, but being actually at Bobby’s. And he would have never pictured a house in the middle of nowhere…well, yeah, maybe the house in the middle of nowhere. But, not surrounded by a junkyard outside and a disorganized hoarder’s library on the inside. He didn’t understand why he was there. 

Dean had tried to find his keys. Then he remembered. Sam had driven them to Bobby’s, so Sam had the keys. The elder Winchester went outside and wandered, looking into the odd abandoned automobile. Then he caught his reflection. He was mesmerized. He looked different.

There were mirrors at the institution, though they were few in number. This was because of the fact that mirrors were made of glass. And, on occasion, the unstable patients would break the glass and use the resulting shards as weapons. For that reason, they were not kept in patient areas. But, Dean had managed to catch a glance or two over the years. 

Dean had been told by staff and patients alike that he was a handsome man. He just didn’t see it. He kept his hair military short just for the practicality of it. He had a narrow short little nose and small pouty lips. And his worst feature of all, in his opinion, were there freckles. He could not understand how someone, who was not a redhead could have so many freckles. And they were all over, his face, his chest, he even had some on his back. But this as even more than that, thought the freckles did seem to show up more in the bright sunshine. There was something about his eyes. They seemed to sparkle. They never seemed to do that before. He wondered what….

“Dean! Dude! What the…?” Sam said, as he rounded the corner at full-tilt run. And then had to slam the brakes on to avoid hitting his brother.

Sam’s shouting tore Dean away from his image. He looked up and stepped aside just in time. 

Bobby appeared a moment later, hearing Sam’s shouting. He hurried to see what Sam was shouting about. “Boy! What the hell you…?” He stopped when he saw that Sam had found Dean.

Both of them looked at Dean for a moment. They could see something was going on, but neither was sure of what it was.

Dean backed away from both of them. He began to shake his head. “I’m not…I’m not supposed to be here. You guys…this...this is a dream. This is a recurring dream. And I…you’re not real.”

“Dean?” Sam started towards his brother. He was confused by Dean’s actions and his tone was pleading. “I’m as real as they get. I’m your brother.”

Sam had checked Dean out as thoroughly as he could. But, he had found no evidence of head trauma. He had not found anything wrong, physically actually. And it puzzled him.

Dean shook his head as he continued to back away.

“Son, just listen…!” Bobby started.

“You are NOT my father. My father is dead. John Winchester is dead! My brother, Samuel Dean Winchester, is dead! My mother, Mary Campbell-Winchester, is dead! My whole family…IS DEAD! LEAVE ME ALONE!!

SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN

 

Missouri jerked herself awake when she felt Dean’s hand squeeze hers. She jumped out of her chair when Dean started to scream. She panicked and called the Dr. just as Dean flat-lined.

The nurses allowed Missouri to stay in the room as they and the doctors flooded in. Missouri situated herself into a corner and attempted to make herself small. She could not take her eyes Dean. She cringed as they put the breathing tube down his throat. She nearly cried when they attached the pads to each side of his chest and then sent the jolt of current through his body. She hated, with a passion hated, the sound the body made when it landed back on the bed. And, she had to hear it two more times before Dean’s heart was beating again. Missouri quietly excused herself. She went into the nearest bathroom and calmed herself down. 

Missouri then returned. She took the chair beside him and held his hand again, very grateful that he was stable. 

Dean groaned. His back hurt, and he felt exhausted, like he had run a marathon. He opened his eyes and looked around the room.

“Hey, Handsome!” Missouri greeted him when he awoke. 

Dean didn’t respond to her immediately. He seemed to be looking around the room for something. He then turned his attention back to Missouri. He knew where he was now. The dream was over. He was back in the only place he knew. The place where his world made sense.

Dean squeezed her hand and shook his head. He fought sleep just long enough to mutter. “…too many freckles.”

 

END NOTES: I don’t know if Jensen or Dean like the freckles. But, I love them. Also, I don’t know if the ‘condition’ Dean suffers from actually exists. But, whether or not it does, please don’t be too hard on me about it, take it as AU and/or literary license, and enjoy the ride. JL

 

 

Chapter 8

 

Missouri looked at her favorite patient. She was worried for him. It was taking him longer to wake completely. The period of wakefulness he had had just the day before had been brief. She would have called his resting time sleep, except he seemed to be in an argument most of the time. And when he wasn’t arguing, he seemed to be physically fighting someone. They had put light restraints on him, so that he would not hurt himself or anyone else while he was in one of his dream states.

Dean didn’t understand why he couldn’t move his arms. He couldn’t understand why he couldn’t move at all. But Sam and Bobby could do anything to him that they wanted. Sam had put him in the car. And now the younger Winchester wouldn’t give him back his car keys.

“Dean,” Sam said, approaching his brother slowly, so as not to scare him. “I’m…I’m your brother, Dean. I’ve always been your brother. I’m not dead, Dude. I’m right here.” He pointed to himself. “I’m standing right here.”

Dean shook his head vigorously, though he was much less sure of Himself now. He had touched Sam. Sam felt real. He felt solid. He was not a wisp of smoke or a spirit. The care had been real. They were in an actual place. It didn’t feel like that when he had dreamt of things the last time. This time the places were more real. There was more detail. They were not dull images just there to make up a background. They were a part of the story. Bobby had been a blur in the past. It was like when his memory got better the image in his dream got sharper. There was more life to it.

Bobby looked at Sam. “He doesn’t remember, Sam? How is that even possible? Has he got amnesia or what?”

They both just stared at Dean, for a moment, in disbelief.

“What?” Dean asked.

“Dad carried me out of the house, Dean. He put me in your arms and told you to run.” Sam explained. “You did, Dean. You carried me out of the house and you waited for dad until he came out.” He could tell Dean was not convinced. “We got out, Dean!”

Dean shook his head. Nothing about this was right.

“You’re Bobby Singer.” Dean snapped back. Then it hit him. “You’re dead. You were…you were in a car accident when I was a child. You were on your way to work and hit a tree.”

“On my way to work?” Bobby was very confused. “What are you talking about, Son? I haven’t had a 9 to 5 since I was a teenager.” Bobby looked at Sam. “You sure he didn’t hit his head somewhere along the line.”

Dean looked at the both of them. It was the first time he noticed. Bobby was dressed strangely. Dean was used to seeing him in his suit coats. And he had facial hair, Den was used to the clean-shaven version. But this was Bobby. His voice was the same. He had the same mannerisms. But, what was he doing in an auto graveyard? How did Bobby and Sam know one another? 

How was any of this possible when Dean knows that Sam Winchester, the one he remembers, died in a horrible house fire at the very tender age of six months? It just didn’t make sense, nothing was making sense.

“Oh, come on.” Dean said to Bobby. “I know it’s been a long time. They told me you were dead. They told me you were killed in a car accident on the way to the institution.”

“Institution?” Bobby asked.

“What are you talking about, Dean?” Sam asked.

“Greenville …Greenville Psychological Institution…where I live.” They put me there after the fire. I as a traumatized orphan. No foster parent wanted to take me on. Adoption agencies wouldn’t touch me, too damaged, they said.” Sam and Bobby persuaded Dean to go back inside. They headed on into the living room, Dean stopped in the kitchen to help himself to a beer. He then started to make himself a sandwich.

Bobby and Sam moved away from the young hunter so that he would not overhear them. They mused. Dean seemed to believe what he was saying. He seemed to believe his family was dead. He believed that had had, basically lived his whole life in an institution. And they mused he believed, at this very moment he was in the middle of a very vivid dream.

There had to be some way to convince Dean that he was in the real world. They were considering brain damage, amnesia, demon possession, whatever it was that was making Dean Winchester not act, at all, like Dean Winchester.

“We’ve got to consider it, Sam. What if…what if he really IS dreaming?” Bobby proposed.

Sam shook his head. “How is he dreaming? HE’s standing right in front of us, Bobby. And he’s not sleep walking. He’s not slept since we’ve been here.”

“Maybe we’re a part of the dream.” Bobby stated.

“How is that…? This is real. Right now! This is…! Sam started.

Bobby interrupted him. “And the institution, you, John and Mary all dying in the fire. That’s what’s real to him.”

“So, let me get this straight. Dean is living in an institution somewhere believing he is all alone in the world. And the only life he has is the one he’s made up in his head?’’ Sam said.

Bobby nodded. “Or maybe his nightmares, only an idgit would dream up this kind of crap and then actually want to be a part of it.” He reasoned.

She shook his head again. “But and institution, Bobby? He said he was still there. He’s been in an institution his whole life…his whole time? What kind of a life is that?” It hurt to even say the words.

Bobby sighed and looked a Sam. “He’s imagined how things would be if you all had lived.”

“Okay, but…but, you was his shrink, not our kind.” Sam pointed out. “Why include you?”

“Family doesn’t end with blood, Sam.” The elder hunter stated. “I guess he really trusted me/him…the shrink, whatever.”

Sam ran his fingers through his hair as he paced. He looked over at his brother, periodically, just to make sure he didn’t try to run off somewhere. “This is messed up, Bobby. I mean totally, royally messed up. This…none of this makes sense.”

“We’re talking about Dean. I’m surprised that there is anything else in that head besides thoughts of women, cheeseburgers or the Impala.” Bobby sated.

 

SPN SPN SPN

 

Dean opened his eyes. It took him just a second to realize where he was. And his heart sank. For the first time, he didn’t find comfort in being ‘back home.’ He closed his eyes as tears slid out of the corners and down into the pillow.

Dean missed his brother.

 

TBC

 

 

Chapter 9

 

Missouri took Dean’s hand when she heard him moving. He had been out, in a coma, for a long time this time. It had been two weeks. Missouri had found herself spending a lot of her time at Dean’s bedside. She was distressed when she saw his tears.

“Dean?” Missouri said, squeezing Dean’s hand to get his attention.

Dean turned and looked at her. He squeezed her hand back. He was back into his reality. And for that he was glad. But, he had no idea what to think. The institution was his life. It was all that he could remember, except when he dreamt. Only in his dreams could he freely visit the day his whole life changed. But, this time it was different, in past dreams the borders were well defined. In his previous dreams, it had felt unfamiliar, and he had wanted no part of it. But, this time he felt closer t the dream. That was the only way he could describe it. He was closer. He didn’t feel like a stranger in a foreign land.

Dean had never tried to reach out and touch the image of his brother before. That was because, before, it had just been an image, a wisp of smoke. And it had been fleeting. It had been gauzy, and not the least bit solid. And, come to think if it, there had not been conversation. No coherent back and forth. Everything seemed to be like two or three-word cryptic messages or phrases back and forth. Dean had not understood the messages he had been given. And, conversely, he had not understood the things he had said in his dreams. His psychiatrists and psychologists, all, had told him that that was perfectly normal. Something about the unconscious mind making up and the conscious mind falling asleep or taking a nap or something. He wasn’t sure. But, it didn’t help him to know that his own mind, when it was free to voice itself, spoke in riddles.

In his dreams Dean always said “I can’t do this alone.” He had no idea what it was he didn’t want to do alone. And he was not entirely sure who he was supposed to be doing it with. He would have assumed his brother, Sam. But, if he needed Sam to do this, that meant that Sam had survived. That also meant that they had done…whatever it is that they did together long enough for Dean to see Sam’s value in it.

Despite a little muscle weakness from his two weeks of immobility. Dean was up and about. The sensations he had felt afterwards continued to plague him, however. And he was confused as to what to make of it. Plus, Dean was kind of sad to be back. He had really felt this that last time. There was another feeling this time, too. He felt like he had left someone behind.

Dean had spent a lot of time, through the years, imagining what his brother would look like. And he had always imagined a sort of miniature Dean. He was a twin, almost, except he was just a little younger and a little shorter. He had not imagined the man he had seen standing before him. A tall lanky guy with hair like Shaggy from the Scooby-Doo cartoons.

Regardless of his opinion, he knew that this was his brother. And he could see Sam’s concern for him in his dreams. He could see that both Bobby and Sam were very afraid that he had lost him mind…or had been possessed by a demon.

What…possessed by a demon? Demons…those were the things of late-night horror flicks. Who would come up with that? What did Sam do? What was he involved in, in his life, to even think up something like that? What…what was the mindset to draw that conclusion?

Dean shook his head. He was just recovering a little slower from the last time this had happened.

“…time was different, wasn’t’ it?” Missouri asked. She had been talking to Dean for about an hour.

Dean looked at her. His mind had drifted, yet again, and he had caught only a small part of the conversation. 

“What is it, Baby?” Missouri asked. She didn’t usually hug her patients. She had been told that it could lead to all sorts of attachments that were very hard to break. Not to mention opening yourself up to possible physical harm. But, she had no fear from Dean. He was not violent and had displayed no violent tendencies. Plus, she could not see those unshed tears in his eyes and not try to comfort him. “It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

Dean just shook his head, unable to speak. He had this ache, a yearning he had never had before. He was beginning to feel like he didn’t belong here. This was his home. It had been for the majority of his life. And it was all he knew. But, now it was different. He belonged with his brother. Each time he thought back to his last…dream. He felt it stronger. 

 

TBC

 

Chapter 10

 

Dean was recovering slower than ever before, and Missouri noticed.

“…time was different, wasn’t it?” Missouri asked.

She had been talking to Dean for about an hour. An at times he seemed to zone out on her. But she kept talking, hoping that she could get him to talk back.

Dean seemed a million miles away, yet again. He had closed his eyes, once more. But she could tell that he wasn’t asleep.

“Dean!” She said firmly.

That got Dean’s attention. He opened his eyes and looked at her.

“What is going on with you, Baby?” Missouri was truly, honestly concerned for her friend. “What’s wrong?”

Dean didn’t know how to describe how he felt. Except to say that the whole experience just seemed so real. It felt like he had stepped through a wormhole, or a rip in time, instead of just waking up from a vivid dream. And he was finding out, very quickly, he hated the fact that he had had to leave his brother behind. It felt like, maybe, if he had grabbed his brother when he had known he as coming back through…. If he had known when he would be waking up, he could have brought Sam back with him.

When dean looked up at her, Missouri saw the tears running down his cheeks. “Sweetheart,” She said, enveloping him in a hug. “What’s wrong?”

Dean was not able to speak for a moment. He accepted the hug and hugged Missouri back. 

“Talk to me, Baby.” Missouri broke the hug so that she could look him in the eye. It tore at her heart to see him hurting. She was just going to have to try, even harder, to get him to talk to her.

Dean looked at Missouri. He shook his head. He wasn't sure he could talk about his last incident. He was sure Missouri wouldn't understand it because he, himself didn't understand it. And, it really kind of scared him to have to be honest with her. He shook his head. What would she have thought if he had told her that he wanted to go back? He wanted to live in that world with his brother? That he felt like he…needed to be there? That it felt like it was he and Sammy against the world, working for the greater good?

Dean didn’t understand the ‘he and Sammy against the world’ part himself. But, it felt huge, cosmic, much beyond himself, maybe even beyond human kind, with results that would ripple through time. It was that kinda thing. And that scared and excited him all at the same time.

 

SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN

 

“Do you think he’s sane?” Dr. Fergus MacLeod asked Missouri. They had all been watching the young man since he had woken up and there were signs that things were changing with him. But, they were not sure what it meant.

Missouri shook her head. “He’s more…emotional. And Dean’s not an emotional person. Not like this.”

Fergus nodded. He knew it to be true. The only time Dean had cried as a child was in connection with his family, mostly his little brother Sam.

Missouri had been very, very confused about Dean reactions after his latest episode. “He’s mumbled about Sam coming back with him. I think, Dr. MacLeod, he has made his little brother so alive in his dreams that…. He told me what his brother looked like,” She paused. “And this was what he looked like now, at the age he would be now. Which I think, based on Dean’s age, is about 22 years old. I just…I don’t think he’s insane. But…you and I have both been dealing with patients with mental illness for a long time.” She looked him on the eye. “Have you ever seen anything like this?”

It was the doctor’s turn to shake his head. His other patients had never age-progressed the loved ones they had lost. They had never forgotten them. And they had said that the loved one would be a certain age when their birthdates rolled around, or something like that. But this, this was not at all like that. Dean had described Sam in way too much detail for it to just be made up. It was like Dean was actually remembering seeing this person and then describing them from that memory. Which was not possible.

Missouri sometimes asked her patients to describe what a loved one might look like now, as a part of their therapy. She usually got things like hair color, eye color, and possibly height, if several members in the family were exceptionally tall or exceptionally short That particular trait may be mentioned. On rare occasions, they would get certain specific facial features: prominent noses, pouty lips, and the like. Things that seemed to run in the family. But, she never got things like hairstyle, clothing, facial hair, the way they smiled, that there were dimples. Those were not the normal type descriptors she got. Dean had even mentioned how unfair it was that Sam didn’t have freckles.

This was like Dean was seeing the person. And that person did not, could not, should not exist. Samuel Winchester died at the tender age of 6 months. How could Dean know what Sam looks like NOW, at the age of 22, when Sam died in a fire at the age of 6 months? These questions swirled in her mind. 

The human mind was a powerful thing. It could create realities, no doubt. But, those realities were of and stayed in the person’s mind. Dean’s reality was coming out for him. He was missing his brother. He, at the tender age of 4, likely had not developed a close relationship with his, then 6-month-old, brother. His young mind may have been capable. But, Sam’s young mind was not. And Missouri had got the definite impression that the bond Dean shared with his brother was reciprocated.

 

TBC

 

 

Chapter 11

 

There was a definite change in Dean after his latest trip into his pretend life. That was what Missouri had started calling it to Dean. 

Missouri was not sure he didn’t want to dissolve himself into that reality. She had to make him understand that it was all in his mind. She had to make him understand that his life at the institution WAS his life, his entire life. His family was all dead. They had all died. There was no way Dean was ‘seeing’ them now, in real time, at their appropriate ages. That was just not possible.

In the month since Dean’s last black out, he had changed. He was…she didn’t know how to explain it, except to say that he was in mourning. She had never ever seen him like that. And they had talked extensively about what he remembered from the day his family died. They had discussed it in all it’s disturbing detail. And she had not gotten this type reaction from him then.

She had taken his lack of reaction then as a disassociation from the event. Which is common in a traumatic event. It becomes like you are seeing the event from a third-person perspective, and it is happening to ‘them’ not to you.

“Why won’t you let me go back?” Dean asked again. He had asked that at every session for the past two weeks.

And Missouri’s answer was always the same. “There is no place to go back to Dean. Sam, your brother was a dream.”

Dean shook his head. “He was real. I touched him. He talked to me. He told me things WE had done together, Missouri. How can that happen if I’m not WITH him?”

“You’re just dreaming. You’ve thought, so much, about how your brother would be…how things would be between the two of you that you….”

“No, NO! We’ve had some rough times, some horrible, horrendous times. Why would I think up something like that? I would want things to be nice, no fighting.” Dean stopped.” We have physically fought, we’ve lied to one another, betrayed one another, we….”

“That’s just what family does. They….” Missouri started.

“And how would I know that, living in here? I don’t get any visitors. And the family meeting days for everybody else are always nice. I never see that stuff. How would I know what it looks like if I’ve never seen it…never experienced it myself? And I haven’t, not living here. I have had a very sheltered life here.” I don’t’ experience the outside world here. How would I know about all that?”

Missouri just shook her head. She didn’t have any answers.

Dean was suddenly tired. He didn’t want to talk. She didn’t understand. Missouri would never understand. She could never understand. And he had to quit talking like this or he was going to end up in one of the rooms in Building C. And he didn’t want to end up in Building C. That was the building of single celled rubber rooms, and strait jackets and strong, very strong, tranquilizer drugs.

“Yeah, maybe that was it, Missouri.” Dean stated, nodding his head. “That’s all it was.”

He didn’t believe it and neither did she. But, maybe it would buy him a little time and keep him away from Building C, at least for a little longer. He really didn’t need the staff or the doctors thinking he had lost his mind.

 

SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN

 

Missouri told Director Fergus McLeod, MD, about her conversation with Dean. She told the doctor everything.

“What…what do you think? Is Winchester crazy?” The doctor asked.

Missouri shook her head. “No, but he’s…somehow, some way he’s made Sam real.”

“How is that possible? Sam was a baby when he died. How would Dean even begin to imagine what his brother would look like?”

“Well, he does remember, very well, what his parents, John and Mary looked like.”

“So, you think he’s just…putting together features making faces up in his mind? That’s all well and good, Doctor. But Dean told me his brother spoke to him. He was talking something about Sam’s bitch face. Dean said it wasn’t’ fair that Sam didn’t have freckles. Those things…it’s just too…too detailed.: Nobody would think to describe those things.”

“He’s thought so much about his brother that he’s….”

Missouri shook her head again. “It’s just…it’s not the same.”

“What you’re saying…you know that that’s impossible.” The director stated.

“I know. But, you just…you talk to Dean.” Missouri stated. “Talk to him, see how much he believes it’s true.”

 

SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN

 

Dean waited for the doctor. He knew that Fergus had talked to Missouri. And he knew what his conversation with the doctor would now be about. He didn’t want the doctor to put him in Building C. He would do anything to keep that from happening. So, if he had to lie about everything he had told Missouri. He would do that. He had seen very few of the residents who went into Building C come back out and rejoin the regular institution population. He had no interest in being one of those who never came back out again.

“Mr. Winchester.” Fergus said as he sat down beside Dean on the bench.

“Dr. McLeod, what is with the formality all the sudden?” Dean asked.

“I don’t think I have ever called you by your last name. It’s always been Dean.” The doctor stated.

“Yeah, well, I’ve been here my whole life, pretty much. And you’ve known me from a kid. So….”

“I think that it’s time I start to talk to you in a way that is more adult. I think that I need to tell you more about how things need to be.” McLeod said.

“What do you mean, how things NEED to be?” Dean said, He looked at the doctor, unsure if he wanted to hear the answer.

“You want to leave here? And who wouldn’t?” The doctor sighed. “You can’t talk about…make-believe worlds. Your brother….” Fergus shook his head. “Sam Winchester is dead, Dean. He died when he was 6 months old. You can’t just….”

“I know. I know. I get it. I do.” Dean stated.

TBC

 

 

Chapter 12

 

“I’m not sure you do, Dean.” Fergus said. “You have a chance of getting out of here. I can help you with that, get you a place to live…a job. But, I can’t do that if you continue to talk like this, Dean.” He paused. “You can’t leave here talking about going to make believe places with a brother who passed years ago.” Fergus shook his head. “Do you understand…?”

Dean nodded. “I do. I get it.”

“I hope so, Dean. I really do.” Fergus said, then he stood and walked away.

Dean sat on the bench for a long while. He had options. Probably not in the traditional sense. Not to those whose life was outside the gates of this place. But, he had options. And he needed to choose what was going to be his life. He needed to choose, quick, before someone else chose for him.

 

SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN

 

Missouri could see a difference in her favorite patient almost immediately.

“You haven’t talked about Sam, your brother, for a few weeks.” Missouri said. She was hoping that the leading statements would get Dean to talk.

“No, I haven’t.” 

“Care to tell me why you stopped?” Missouri asked.

“Why I stopped being crazy?” Dean shot back.

“Why you stopped talking about Sam.” Missouri clarified.

“I will have to refer you back to my previous statement.”

“Dean!”

“Talking about Sam means I’m crazy, right?” Dean stated. “That’s the impression I got from Dr. McLeod. So, I stop talking about Sam, I’m healed. Isn’t that how it works?”

“You were never crazy, Dean.” Missouri stated. “You were not brought here for that reason. You were brought here because you were a traumatized little boy. You stayed because we could find no close family. Adoption and fostering wasn’t an option for you.”

“Why is Fergus talking….? Dean shook his head. “I can’t live outside this place. I’ve never had a job in my life. I don’t know how….”

“We’ve taught you a lot. And we are not going to just throw you out into the big bad world. We are going to, as Dr. McLeod told you, find you a place to live and a job. And we are going to help you manage your money. We will help you with shopping for your food, clothing, and whatever else you need. Somebody will be checking in with you, daily, for awhile. If you need somebody to walk with you through the market to buy things, if you need somebody to….”

Dean shaking his head stopped her. “It’s…it’s too much. It’s just too much.”

“There is a phrase for what you are feeling, Dean. It’s called being institutionalized. And it’s living in a place and becoming so dependent on what the place provides that you don’t think you can survive, once you leave the place.” 

Dean looked at her, tears in his eyes. “I can’t survive outside these walls. Don’t you get that?”

“Oh, Darlin’.” Missouri replied seeing his distress. “It’s going to be okay. You’re scared, Baby. That’s natural, you don’t know what is ahead for you. You are going into something you don’t know anything about. But, Dean, we will be there. I promise.”

 

SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN

 

“I don’t know, Doctor. I talked to him for a while last night. I even came back and checked on him before I left for the evening. He…he seemed fine.” Missouri shook her head. S

Missouri had no idea how it happened. She had no idea how Dean had gotten into the locked medicine cabinet located at the nurses’ station on the floor where he lived. They had no idea how much he had taken. They didn’t know, at the time, even what he had taken. It took a blood test to figure that out. He had knocked all the bottles out of the cabinet. They lay, scattered on the floor. The nurses scrambled back to the station, realizing their mistake of leaving it unattended, for even the briefest of moments. 

They found Dean lying on the floor, unconscious and unresponsive.

 

TBC

 

END NOTE: There is one more chapter to come. I’m sorry, you guys, that I have kept you waiting so long for the next chapter. Also, just so you know, you might be surprised by the way I end it. That is if the plot bunnies stay on their little rabbit trail. But, you never know with plot bunnies. JL

 

 

 

Chapter 13

 

Missouri took the seat she had hoped she was never have to take again. The ICU had been come very familiar, only a months ago, with Dean’s last visit. She had never wanted to get acquainted with it again. But, here she was. 

As it turned out, Dean had overdosed on some sleeping pills. The blood tests showed amounts that were not particularly high. But, an interaction had occurred with those pills and Dean’s regular medication. What it meant was, his prognosis was very uncertain.

Missouri sighed as she held Dean’s hand. She started talking to him, as she had all those months before. She hoped that he could hear her. She hoped that, wherever he was, wherever the mind went in instances like this, she could reach him and bring him back.

 

SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN

 

“Sam, Dude?” Dean asked as he came into the back door of Bobby’s house. “Where are you?”

Sam came into the living room. And Bobby turned his head to the older Winchester, something had changed. They were just not sure what.

“Sammy, let’s go!” Dean said heading towards the door.

“Where are we going?” Sam asked, confused.

“You can’t leave, not like this.” Bobby said.

“Like what?” Dean asked. He had no clue what they were talking about.

“Bobby was your counselor, and you were….” Sam started.

Dean looked at him. “What have you been…? Dude, I’ve warned you about gettin’ the cheap stuff.”

Sam and Bobby looked at one another. It was as if they felt that piece snap back into place. Whatever had been off, whatever had needed to be fixed, was fixed. They had Dean back.

“Come on! A possible Wendigo in North Dakota.” Deans said as he opened the door to the Impala and climbed in.

Sam and Bobby looked at one another again. Bobby shook his head. “You better go before the idjit drives off without you.”

“See ya, Bobby.” Sam called back as he headed to the car.

“Call me if you need me.” Bobby called to them as Sam slammed the door.

 

THE END

 

END NOTES: I realize that this is a short chapter and, indeed, a short ending for the story. I did not end it as probably the writer of the prompt would have liked, but this is the ending I envisioned from the beginning. I know some of you may see it as a sad one. In that Dean doesn’t wake up from his coma. However, you can also take it as the best ending possible. He is finally free, and he is with the family he always dreamed about. At any rate, I thank you all for staying with me. And, I hope that you enjoyed the ride. JL


End file.
